


Brighton Rock

by essexgrl68



Category: Blur
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 15:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10722510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essexgrl68/pseuds/essexgrl68
Summary: Music:	The Who.  Quadrophenia soundtrack.Disclaimers:  Fiction.  The boys belong to themselves.Notes:  A completely different head canon from the NYC story.  Seems there are two distinct ideas about these two: either they’ve been lovers since school days, or it happens sometime around the time of the matching beads.  Second one here.  And I apologize for it getting soppy.  It was difficult to go to a different mood when the theme (Quadrophenia) is something so close to my own heart.  Someday I’ll write good angst, I promise.  Again, bonus points if you can find the Forster.  A knowledge of the film “Quadrophenia” will help with the references.  Think of this as a good reason to watch it.





	Brighton Rock

Brighton Rock  
April 1992

“Damon, that’s disgusting. We don’t have to re-enact every scene.” Graham’s face scrunched up but he couldn’t help smiling at the same time. Damon grinned at him, yolk smeared on his chin from the egg butty he’d just bitten into. He swiped at it with his hand and cheekily licked his fingers off, winking at Graham. “Nah, I know. But I was hungry and I thought I may as well order the same thing as Dave did!” 

The ocean sparkled beyond the cafe windows, sun spangling the waves with gold as a brisk April breeze blew along the Pier. Blur were in Brighton for a show later on that evening, Dave and Alex choosing to catch up on needed sleep at the small hotel where the band and crew would spend the night before pushing on to the next venue. Damon and Graham were on the town. They’d both visited separately with their families but this was the first time together and they were both of the same mind: Quadrophenia! Neither could remember how many times they’d watched the movie in their teens, bunched up together on Graham’s family couch in the parlour, singing along, or Graham wonkily imitating Townshend’s guitar moves to Damon’s crowing laughter. They had a few hours now and had decided to fit in as many of the iconic locations as they could. They finished their tea and stepped outside into the sunshine.

Damon was wearing what he would later at the gig and it was appropriate for the mood - a trim new mod style suit with white shirt and narrow tie, and his new oxblood Doc Martens, of which he was quite proud. His hair was newly trimmed and the wind ruffled it as they walked down to the shore, over the round slippery stones. Graham had, although he was a bit self-conscious about it, worn his mod parka over his usual button down and jeans. In a nod to his own fashion sense, he had a light wool scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, handy in the cool April air. They crouched at the shoreline, watching the waves and chucking a few stones, admiring the Pier. “Come sleep on the beach, keep within my reach...I just wanna die with you here, I’m feeling so HIGH with you here…” Damon crooned, winking again at Graham. Graham cuffed at him, shoving his shoulder. “Shut up!” he laughed. He resisted the urge to twist his fingers in his hair. The laughter was part genuine, pleased as he was at Damon’s obvious high spirits and enthusiasm.   
But it was also masking his exasperation and frustration at the constant teasing. He wasn’t sure if Damon knew what kind of torture he’d been putting him through for years. His friend was a natural flirt and notoriously free with his affectionate gestures, not only with Graham. And most people were only too happy to reciprocate them. Damon was irresistible. A few times within the confines of the tour bus, or during a happy drunk after a gig backstage, there had been some free-spirited snogging sessions that had ended in general hilarity, and no-one mentioned them the next day. 

The history between the two of them went back even further, to the school days: Damon nuzzling the back of his neck cozily when they were working on a song in the music hut or gently kissing his cheek. There had been a dreamlike, golden afternoon by the Colne when they’d upended a couple of bottles of stolen wine and Damon had pinned him down on the blanket, balanced on his elbows and hovering just above Graham’s face, whispering, “Grem, Grem” as he ever so lightly brushed that perfect nose along his cheek. Their lips had met clumsily, just enough to taste the wine in each other’s mouths, then Damon had lost his balance and they sprawled next to each other, stupidly drunk and laughing, and Damon had quickly fallen asleep in the sunshine - but Graham’s heart was almost bursting from his chest. Graham had never had the nerve to talk to him about it. They were best mates, musical partners - how do you tell your male friend that you’d been in love with him since you were fourteen? He knew they loved each other as friends, but Damon was so stubbornly ambiguous in his looks and gestures that Graham was still unsure if he wanted him, the way Graham lusted after him. And he didn’t want to risk ruining what they had to fulfill the fantasies that tormented him and filled his sketchbooks with Albarn portrait after Albarn portrait. One day when they were really famous, he thought, he’d stash them in an attic somewhere, safe from the prying eyes of the curious. 

Even now he was planning another drawing. Damon had climbed up on and was walking - no, prancing - along the line of benches that adorned the beachfront. He’s so beautiful, Graham thought, does he even know how lovely he is? The boy’s face was split with a huge smile, blue eyes sparkling. He looked like Peter Pan in a Sunday-best suit, unbelievably young and fresh and healthy looking, the play of muscles under his new suit just visible along his shoulders and back and thighs. His whole body was a stunning mixture of masculine and feminine. Graham felt his insides turn molten as he watched him. He’d have to bury the feelings until later when he could find some time alone with his paper and pencils, and then capture the seaside moment for himself.

So, the cafe. The beachfront. The hotel. They had no idea which exact shop-lined streets were used for the riot scene, but chose one at random and Damon was delighting in peering in the shop windows, on the lookout for little treasures. “I want to find some Brighton Rock! What kind do you like, Graham?” “Day, they weren’t shopping. They were running from the police, come on!” Graham impulsively grabbed his friend’s hand and pulled him farther along the street, away from the temptation of the windows. 

“Graham, look!” Damon stopped short and pointed down a narrow cobbled alleyway. “D’ya think?” He ducked into it, gazing up at the sky and turning himself round and round as he moved along it, imitating Jimmy’s gin and blues-fuelled scene from the end of the film. Graham laughed and followed him as he reached the dead-end of the passageway. Damon leaned up against the bricks of the wall. “Dizzy” he complained, panting slightly. 

Graham stood a few feet away, and now could not stop the compulsive twirling of his fingers in his hair. Damon gazed solemnly at him. “Graham.” He looked at his friend. “I’ve been joking all day but this means a lot to me. That movie...sharing it with you...it helped so much. You helped so much. School was shit, most of the time. Thank you. Every year is the same, I feel it again...I’m a loser, no chance to win. Leaves start falling, comedown is calling, loneliness starts sinking in. But I’m One. I’m One. You gave me that, Graham. Being friends with you gave me that. The music. Everything.” He took Graham’s hand and stroked the palm. “I love you, Graham Coxon.” Their eyes met and they were in love with one another consciously, both hearts beating furiously. 

Graham felt his knees about to give way. It was happening. Grab it, his instincts told him, don’t let this pass by. He smiled shakily at his friend. “Damon, what I said earlier, about not having to re-enact the movie? Maybe I was wrong.” Damon’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in surprise and then smiled back. “Oh! Well, I think I remember this part. Don’t let’s argue about who’s Steph and who’s Jimmy, alright?” His hands reached for Graham’s face and drew them together into a tentative kiss, not much more than a brushing of lips, and Damon drew back suddenly. “Wait! I’m sorry. Graham? Am I reading this right?” Graham reached for the angelic face and stroked his cheekbones softly. “If you want me even half as much as I want you…” Damon breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, yes. My beautiful Graham.” 

He caressed Graham’s face and hair, leaning in, breathing the scent of him in deeply and gently kissing his neck and behind his ear. Graham whimpered softly and let his hands move over Damon’s shoulders and down his back, their bodies moving together now and rocking gently into each other. The kisses were no longer tentative, tongues tasting and exploring, heads tilting together again and again. Oh god oh god oh god Graham’s head was spinning, his body reacting almost too quickly don’t want to rush but oh god oh god...They were moaning into each other’s mouths and Damon’s hand palmed Graham through his jeans. “Oh fuck, you’re so hard.” “Kiss me some more.” They were biting at each other’s lips now, Damon panting into Graham’s mouth. “Touch me, Gra.” 

He unbuttoned the suit jacket and Graham took in the sight of him flushed, pupils huge, and wide mouth swollen from their kissing, his hard-on tenting the neat pants. His nimble hands unzipped them and he drew their hips together again, reaching for Damon. How many times had he dreamt of him, hot and hard in his hand; this was like a dream. Damon’s head was tilted back against the brick wall and Graham licked and bit gently at his neck as he stroked him, Damon rocking himself into Graham’s hand. Graham was grinding himself into Damon’s thigh but it wasn’t enough and he groaned helplessly, fumbling for the buttons on his jeans.   
“Let me.” Damon hastily unbuttoned the jeans and reached for Graham, one hand sliding around to his arse and pressing them together, both crying out at the new sensation of their erections rubbing together. “Fuck fuck fuck…” More frantic kissing, and Graham’s long fingers enveloped both their cocks, pressing and rubbing, his thumb skimming over the wetness at the tips. “Look at me” he commanded of Damon, and their eyes met fiercely. “Oh, Graham, fuck, I’m going to come…” “The scarf”, Graham gasped, and Damon slid it from around his neck and deftly caught his spunk in its folds, his other hand joining Graham’s, helping to bring him to his own climax. They slumped together against the wall, kissing gently, and Damon chuckled. “Don’t need to ask you if you got off, Gra.” Graham brushed the sweaty hair off Damon’s forehead and kissed him again. “That was lovely” he whispered. “Trust you to think of my new clothes,” Damon said as he tucked the scarf into a pocket of Graham’s parka. 

“You won’t turn round and leave me tomorrow for Dave, will ya?” Damon joked between more kisses. “Nobody said I was Steph.” Graham replied, ‘and no, ‘course not. You’ve had me for years, just didn’t know it.” 

“I think we both knew it. We were just scared…” They looked into each other’s eyes. “Now what?” Graham kissed Damon’s nose, the corner of his mouth, his lips again. “First, we have a show tonight. Then, we start making up for lost time.”


End file.
